


púdrete en el infierno.

by thatluckyrabbit



Series: Let Me See You Stripped Down to the Bone [2]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Follow up, Gen, Justice Served, Supernatural Elements, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 02:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13285542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatluckyrabbit/pseuds/thatluckyrabbit
Summary: “Looks like you finally got what was coming to you.”





	púdrete en el infierno.

**Author's Note:**

> This was another idea that goes with my last story where basically Ernesto gets what's coming to him. JUSTICEEE. I swear my writing it usually better than this but I'd been in a slump of depression for about a year and haven't written in months as a result, so it's nice to come back with inspiration and be writing again! 
> 
> Also I made hector’s death a little more brutal and angsty than it was in the movie for the sake of drama and angst, and cause obviously pixar wouldn’t have added his death in it had it been that brutal. But I feel like poison is more brutal and painful irl 
> 
> Anyway, maybe I will write another follow up, who knows! We shall seeeeee

 

As the years went by, it almost seemed hopeless to keep wishing and praying for Ernesto to get what was coming to him. As if watching that backstabbing murderer use Héctor’s songs on stage and claim them as his own wasn’t bad enough—tarnishing their very meaning and memory for the sole purpose of furthering his own fame—watching Ernesto live out his dream and achieve a fulfilling and happy and seemingly long life was even _worse._  
  
At that point now, twenty years later, it was just exhausting for Héctor. The only relief he could take in all of this was knowing Ernesto hadn’t claimed a second victim, as murderers tended to do. He figured it would have happened considering Ernesto had proven himself as a man who would do anything to save himself and his dream. To his surprise and relief, it never happened. That much he could take solace in for when— _if_ —he did ever finally cross over peacefully. Whenever that time would be, or if it would ever come to be, he hadn’t a clue. He knew something was still tying him to this earth, keeping him here and not letting go anytime soon. He figured if he’d died of natural causes or an accident, while shock and grief still would have set in and regret of leaving home in the first place, surely he would have moved on soon enough. But murder was different; knowing he was a victim and that his life was unfairly cut short by someone who selfishly would do anything to succeed in life—let alone someone he grew up with and trusted and practically considered a brother by all meaning of the word—filled him with all the hatred that he’d never felt in life. So in retrospect he knew part of it was Ernesto’s fault, while the other part of the fault lied with himself and the grudge and anger he just couldn’t let go.  
  
But how could he let it go? How could he move on knowing his life was taken from him at only 21—a young husband and father who’d never return home again and might never see his family again, buried in a shallow grave in a place where he’d never be found or remembered. Forced to watch his murderer achieve his dreams that he’d murdered him just to get while Héctor simply rotted away in the dirt as his family was left wondering what happened to him, and why he left, and why he never came home and never would.  
  
It was all he could think about sometimes. Twenty years went by rather quickly when you’re left with the constant reminder of your fate—and that time means nothing to you personally once you’re dead. And anytime he tried to think of his family and wonder how they were doing—how were they now in life, so many years later?—without him, and that he couldn’t see for himself how they were... it made him ache, and it was that hurt inside that felt as close to dying had felt for him physically. And then he remembered why—remembered the agony in his chest and stomach as the urge to vomit grew and then doing so, with blood that was warm and metallic in taste building up in his throat and ultimately coming out and staining the ground and his clothes. All while Ernesto simply stood and watched as the poison took affect. _Por favor ayudame,_ he’d begged, but it never fully came out of his mouth as he choked and convulsed finally on the pavement, wide eyes filling with tears as he looked at his friend for help in his agony. _Por favor... ayuda!_  
  
He didn’t see a bright light like he’d heard would happen in death throughout his short life. He hadn’t given any thought to dying when he was alive. He always assumed he’d live a long and happy life with Imelda and surely raise a bigger family with her, as Coco had been starting to ask for siblings, something which he figured he and Imelda could begin planning on once he came home for good (something which wasn't meant to be.) That was the life he saw for himself in the future, and it never occurred to him he would lose all of that so suddenly and without warning. And instead of a bright light, all he saw was Ernesto staring him down and then darkness.  
  
When he awoke next, he was dead. And time seemed to slow at first before picking up speed once that happened—once everything changed. Consumed by only his regret, despair and pure loathing.  
  
Being stuck with Ernesto all these years and forced to watch him live out a good life only made those feelings worse for him. Would he forever be stuck within the emotions he just couldn’t let go? Was that all that death had to offer to him?  
  
Maybe not.  
  
Now, twenty years later, he found himself hovering among the audience of Ernesto’s adoring fans as they watched him perform one of his more personal songs. _Butcher is more like it,_ Héctor thought, disgusted by the sounds of the upbeat version of a song that had only been written and meant only for his daughter to hear. That song was and always would be for Coco, it was never meant for the world to hear. But of course Ernesto was heartless enough to use it as ‘his’ most popular song, anyway. That was Ernesto all right—selfish and disgusting as ever, even more so now with his dreams fulfilled and his ego soaring as a result. If only he'd seen the warning signs when he was alive... how much Ernesto used his charm and manipulated him.  
  
_If only they knew,_ he thought, glancing around at the crowd and seeing how much they adored the murderer currently singing on stage. _If only... they knew what that pendejo really was..._  
  
He would love to scream it out for the world to hear. But alas, no amount of shouting or screaming could make anyone of the living world hear him. They wouldn’t know who he was anyway; he would forever be lost in time.  
  
Despite his disgust, Héctor glanced back up at Ernesto, watching as the man backed up the stairs on stage, standing right beneath a large fake bell similar to one a church adorned. Ernesto continued to sing out _Remember Me_ over the cheering of his fans, and finally moved his eyes back to the crowd, as if to again take in the unconditional love they had for him.  
  
Héctor’s eyes locked onto his. Ernesto seemed to nearly stop and stumbled over the words of the song in shock as the music continued to play despite his clear surprise and disbelief.  
  
A rope snapped. Then, a loud crashing sound erupted throughout the concert hall. A scream rang out, followed by many more gasps and yells of horror.  
  
Even Héctor found himself shocked, almost wondering if a fantasy he imagined was coming to life before his very eyes, that it must have been too good to be true. Surely Ernesto was fine and would find a way to milk his injuries or near death experience with the same manipulative charm he always had.  
  
He waited. And waited. People from backstage rushed to the forefront, up the stairs where the bell was embedded into the floor, where Ernesto had been standing. The crowd talked amongst themselves with some even crying out and holding back tears as they waited to see if their idol was alright.  
  
_You don’t deserve their tears, Ernesto... you deserve to rot in a grave just like me..._  
  
Héctor finally decided to glide his way closer to the stage, to where the bell still sat, as people struggled to figure out how to lift it to possibly save the famous singer trapped beneath. He was barely halfway there when he heard a voice, horrified and confused just as he’d been when he died.  
  
“....H-Héctor...?”  
  
Héctor finally caught sight of Ernesto, but it was apparent right then and there that the famous man who _‘seized his moment’_ was as dead as he was. Now after all these years alone in silence, hoping to let Ernesto know and make him remember what he’d done, finally he could be seen by him—finally he could let him know just how much he hated him. In some ways justice had been served, and that filled him with a solace that he only just now found, after never having felt in before since dying.  
  
“Ernesto.” He stared at his killer with cold eyes. He was still wearing the same outfit from the night he was killed, and that enough sent Ernesto into a panic at the sight. “Death doesn’t feel so great does it? Not even to the great De La Cruz himself.”  
  
“Y-You’re dead...!” Ernesto moved back and away from Héctor, as if afraid he was here to drag him to hell for his sins. “I—“  
  
“Killed me. _Si_ , I’m very well aware of that.” The fact Ernesto—despite being freshly dead and now simply a specter just like himself—was afraid of him filled Héctor with an odd sense of glee. _Now he knows how I felt._ “Looks like you finally got what was coming to you.”  
  
“No...” Ernesto shook his head, disbelief filling every word that poured from his mouth now. “No no no.... I’m not dead.... there’s no way.... and you.... you shouldn’t be here, you—“  
  
“ _Ay_ , but I am here! Aren’t you happy to see me, _amigo_? Didn’t you miss me all these years, considering you didn’t want me to leave in the first place?” Héctor cackled a bit, gliding closer to the frightened dead man before him. He didn't sound like his old self now, not as he used to. Everyone around them—the horrified crowd, the dancers on stage and the backstage crew still working to free Ernesto’s body—all seemed to fade away. It was just them now, no one else mattered in this single moment that Héctor had been waiting for for so long. “ _Ay, espera,_ that’s right, you murdered me so you could steal my songs and my guitar. How silly of me to forget that little detail.”  
  
“I did what I had to!” It seemed as though the initial horror was starting to fade for Ernesto. “And so what? You’ve been following me around all these years?”  
  
Héctor came dangerously closer to Ernesto now, and the other spirit backed away a bit more, wide eyed and surprised by the Héctor before him. “I got stuck with you, _pendejo_. I didn’t have a choice! You don’t think I wanted to go home to see my family? That was all I wanted, _and you took that from me!”_  
  
“You left them, Héctor! You made the choice to come with me, whatever happened afterwards is—“  
  
Ernesto barely finished his sentence. Soon he found himself pinned to the ground with Héctor—a sweet jokester with such talent in life—barring his teeth down at him, eyes filled with more fury than he’d ever seen him do when they were alive and growing up.   
  
“You killed me,” he practically snarled, “All so you could become famous! You took me away from my family! I was only twenty one years old! I had my whole life ahead of me _**and you took it away!”**_  
  
He’d screamed with such a ferocity that it made Ernesto stare back at him with rather frightened eyes. Héctor was reminded right then and there of when he had died, how he’d looked at Ernesto with the same terror.  
  
At least now, Ernesto had finally got what was coming to him. Karma could only wait so long before finally striking, it seemed. Héctor had waited long enough for this moment. Dreamed of it, even. He would savor it, knowing that now they were on the same page.  
  
_Dead._  
  
Before Héctor could say more and before Ernesto could find some way to try and reason with him, a thick, black smoke started to form around them—well, around Ernesto, mostly. Héctor let him go so he could move back from the smoke—whatever it was, he had no idea. But it was clear it was going straight for the now dead superstar, right as the living around them had finally started to manage to free the crushed body of Ernesto De la Cruz from underneath the large bell.  
  
“Wait—“ Ernesto seemed to realize what this was, or at the least, that this wasn’t a normal thing. Unlike when Héctor himself had died, Ernesto hardly allowed himself to really let the reality of his demise fully sink in, thinking it to be some sort of nightmare than anything real. But as the coils of the thick dark smoke grabbed hold of him in a vice like grip, like hands, a chattering of whispers that seemed to roar among the living crowd around them, began to take Ernesto with it back to wherever it came from.  
  
“No—wait, _por favor!_ Don’t do this, don’t—“ In his failed struggle to get away, Ernesto could only look at Héctor for help, a last resort. “Héctor! _Amigo_ , please, I’m—I’m sorry for what I did to you! Just—“  
  
It was starting to cover him whole. Making it hard to move anymore, all he could do was hold out an arm towards his old friend.  
  
Héctor only watched with the same empty eyes that Ernesto had on the night he poisoned him.  
  
“ _Púdrete en el infierno_ , Ernesto.”  
  
Ernesto stared at him, stunned by his words. Horrified, he gave a final scream before he was completely swallowed whole by the darkness. It vanished along with him, never to be seen again. Even as Ernesto’s body was taken away and his fans cried among themselves for their fallen idol, Héctor felt alone in that moment, and yet at the same time he felt _whole._ Slowly but surely a weight he’d carried with him for so long in death began to lift and he felt lighter.  
  
He took one last look around him at the crying crowd. They would never know the truth; a truth that Ernesto had ultimately died with. No one would ever know what Ernesto De La Cruz had done. His family would never know either.  
  
His family...  
  
With Ernesto dead and gone, Héctor realized that in some regards he was finally free. He could leave now, and finally see Imelda and Coco. Finally after all these years he could at least see them again, even if they couldn’t see him. He could at least be there, watch them live out their lives and try to fill in the time he missed.  
  
And as people began to hear the news and mourn the fallen singer, crushed to death in a freak accident, Héctor silently made his way back to Santa Cecilia. His home.  
  
Maybe then he could finally find peace.


End file.
